Stalker // DNF

16: Talent

'You okay?' Dream whispers, George hating the added terror the mask adds to his voice.

George nods, becoming more conscious of his own mask, attaching extra mass he isn't used to at the movement of his head. He feels unusually aware of the weight of his arm, making sure not to release any tension and free the limb further into Dream's grasp.

Dream tightens his grip ever so slightly to lift their arms up an inch, directly parallel to the black background George had messily sprayed.

'Okay, I go quite fast, I'll try to slow it down a little, but beware it takes a bit of getting used to,' Dream says softly. George notices his shift in voice since getting nearer, more quiet and gentle.

George nods again, his voice box seemingly having had a bottle stopper placed at its exit.

'Okay, we'll start with the outline of the cat, we'll have to move quick or it'll get splotchy,' Dream continues. 'Press the nozzle?'

George's index finger jolts to the top of the can, feeling heavy as it had been resting peacefully and unmoving up to this point. He finds the groove and presses down, the spurt of paint shooting out again, brown this time instead of black.

He's instantly startled by Dream's clasp tightening further as he lurches George's arm to the left of the bricks, just inside the black border. George is barely in control as Dream flutters across the small area of the wall, up and down, creating a soft outline with his practiced guide. He jerks back to more faded areas, ensuring an even distribution of paint. George feels he is giving no contribution, simply pressing the nozzle and observing the beginning of the mural, his arm being Dream's brush, the fast-moving pace being difficult for his eyes to keep up with.

'Okay, stop,' Dream mutters, quickly giving the outline sharp ears in the time it takes for George's reaction-time to release the trigger.

The sound of compressed air ends and Dream's grip loosens as he lets go of George's arm and the hold of his back, stepping to his side and back within his vision.

'It's, um... something,' Dream says, stepping closer and squinting his eyes at the wall. 'It was harder than I thought, honestly, to lead your arm.'

George finally relaxes his forelimb, chucking the spray paint from one hand to the other. It aches a little at the rapid movement it had briefly endured, the pulse apparent in George's bicep. He imagines having to contribute to an entire painting of the rapid movements and tight grasp, the thought not amusing in the moment.

'Dream, I'm happy to just watch you paint. I'll sit over there,' George points to a low rock, resting by the bush of the exit. He'd never had the natural pull or talent towards art, this experience was amplifying that.

Dream turns his head quickly, his eyes dim and down-turned.

'No... the whole idea was this to be our piece,' Dream says, his pitch lowering.

'No, honestly,' George leans forward to grab Dream's hand which was dangling by his side. Dream's hand twitches upwards in surprise before he sees George nestle the spray can into his palm.

'It wasn't like I was contributing - minus the background. I'm taking full credit for that,' George smiles, peeling the gloves off his hands once he returns to his previous posture, letting go of Dream's palm as soon as it made contact. The cold air hits the beads of sweat which had gathered between his fingers, relieving their gathered heat.

Dream hesitates, tapping the can with the finger-pads of his other hand. 'I don't want you to be bored.'

'I won't be!' George comforts him quickly, making his way to the bush. He perches down to the rock, the coolness of the new texture instantly transferring through trouser to skin.